


Tough Love

by Arianna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's vehemence and Blair's ambivalence about a case concerning a student prostitute ring threatens to tear them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Janet, this story takes place after Night Shift, but before Sentinel, Too.
> 
> And dedicated to Janet for her truly incredible generosity in encouraging my work by winning this second story in the Friends of Garett Moonridge Online Auction 2006.
> 
> Finally, with thanks to PattRose for the title artwork!

[ ](http://s71.photobucket.com/user/PattRose1/media/Marilyn%20pics/toughlove_zpsd36ec2b2.jpg.html)

"Smart-ass kids. They're playing with us, Chief. 'Bodies for Hire'; yeah, right," Jim snarled with contemptuous frustration as he slammed the truck's door and jammed his key into the ignition. Glaring disdainfully out the windshield at the small, storefront student employment office they'd just left, his jaw clenched angrily. "I'm going to nail them."

Blair flicked a surprised look at his partner and shook his head at the vehemence as he fastened his seatbelt. "Chill out, man," he recommended and threw up his hands in a calming gesture when Jim transferred the icy glare to him. "Look," he sighed, eminently reasonable, "there's _nothing_ to suggest this operation is anything other than what they claim to be – an agency run by students to help other students find part-time work."

"Give me a break," Ellison growled with a sharp gesture toward the sign. "With a name like that? It's blatant pimping for prostitution."

Sandburg snorted and then grinned whimsically, "Actually, I think it's kinda catchy."

"You would," he retorted nastily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blair challenged, sounding offended.

"You're a smart guy; you figure it out," Jim grated, as he abruptly pulled into the traffic lane, eliciting a honk from behind.

"Geez, Jim, watch it!" Blair exclaimed as he clutched at the dash for balance and grimaced at the near collision. "Man, _what_ is your problem?"

"My problem is there is a major new prostitution ring in play that's using students, a lot of them probably under-aged and all of them at risk," he rasped harshly. "How so many supposedly smart college kids could be so criminally stupid as to get mixed up in this is the real mystery here."

"Stupid?" Blair echoed, his gaze narrowing.

"Yes, stupid," he insisted in disgust. "These aren't street kids hustling for food, Sandburg, prostituting themselves to survive. These college kids are probably doing it for kicks. Think it's 'cool' or some dumb-assed thing – or they're just plain greedy, trying to make a big score." He seethed for a moment in silence and then continued furiously, "And those other kids back there, running the place, pretending to be so keen and innocent are pimping their peers – selling them – and no doubt getting rich doing it." Cutting a hard look at his partner, he vowed, "I'm gonna bring them down."

"Sounding a little like a vigilante here, big guy," Blair observed bitingly. "Aren't you taking this just a bit too personally?"

"What?" Jim exploded, wheeling the truck to the curb and turning furiously on his partner. "Vigilante? Too personally? Where the hell do you get off? In case you haven't noticed in the last three years, it's my _job_ to arrest law-breakers."

Blair's eyes flashed angrily at the patronizing and heavily sarcastic tone. "I know that," he retorted. "Of course I know that. My point here is that these are students trying to pay some bills and there's nothing –"

"Just on hold on," Jim cut in harshly. "You sound like you think what they're doing is okay. What planet do you live on? Yeah, they're students – and they should be studying, or writing papers, or maybe even out having fun with other students, figuring out how to be grown-ups because they sure as hell don't have a clue about responsibility or about making some kind of contribution. These kids have got it so damned good. But do they appreciate that, huh? Oh, no, no – they have to go out and break the law, thumbing their noses at us all the way. They're gloating, Sandburg. Think they're smarter than dumb cops. Think they have some right to do whatever the hell they want, regardless of consequences. Just to make a few bucks and have a few thrills."

Blair stared at him, his expression flattening as he listened to the rant. His lips pressed together, as if holding back a flood of words, and then he deliberately looked away, staring out at the street. Jim gave a tight shake of his head and then pulled back into traffic. When Blair didn't say anything after half a mile, Jim gave him another quick, derisive glance. "What?" he demanded impatiently, spoiling for a fight.

He'd been furious when Simon had dumped this pissant case on him, just because the Mayor had her panties in a twist over prostitution in the city. This case belonged to Vice, pure and simple. Major Crime detectives were supposed to go after major criminals, not small-time hustlers like this operation. But what the Mayor wanted the Mayor got, and she wanted him on this case. Well, fine. Then he'd do his thing and wrap it up and get back to real work. The fact that the perps were probably university students who should know better was only icing on the cake, tipping his irritation at the abuse of power into real anger.

When Sandburg ignored him with the studied patience of a parent dealing with a tantrum, he transferred his aggravation onto his partner, prodding sarcastically, "You want to believe that they're what they claim to be, don't you? Or even if I'm right, you want to think that these kids are just experimenting or whatever with sex. But they're not like you, Sandburg; there's no such thing as free love any more. Everything comes with a price tag."

Wincing at the cutting tone, Blair swallowed more words and closed his eyes briefly as he very evidently struggled to bring his temper under control. When he did speak, his tone was carefully level, deliberately non-provocative. "Okay, okay. You're right. Prostitution is not only illegal, it's dangerous. And, while it would be nice if you just said so, I'm guessing that in the absence of any evidence whatsoever you're so positive of their guilt because you picked up something while we were questioning them. You could sense they were lying, right?"

"You got it," Jim affirmed with almost feral satisfaction, marginally appeased that Blair was finally taking him seriously. "Heart rate, respirations, sweat ... lying like a rug. Now we just have to prove it."

"Right," Blair sighed with a stiff, shallow nod. "Phone records to match against legitimate employers looking for workers versus calls from individuals to look for patterns; stakeouts and tailing to see where the students go when they report for work ... and we'll probably see them trot off to the local mini-mart or donut shop to work the counter, or bar to wait tables, or docks to unload cargo. And let me make another wild guess – you want me to sniff around at Rainier, don't you? To see if I can pick up any gossip or get students talking about the joys of getting rich by sleeping around. God, like I don't have enough to do already." Raking his hair back with taut fingers, he muttered, "We'd need an army to put this case together."

Jim rolled his eyes at the whining. Sandburg was his partner. If he was stuck with this stupid case, so was Blair, and the sooner it was resolved the better. "You seem to be lacking in enthusiasm, Sandburg." When Blair didn't answer but turned his face away to stare out the side window, Jim studied him speculatively for a moment and then jibed, "You're thinking about Amber, aren't you? Getting all bent out of shape about how sorry you felt for her, even though you hated the idea of her hooking. Don't think I don't know that it didn't bug you that she was turning tricks. You knew then and you know now that she knew what she was doing was against the law and made her choices, just exactly like these kids are doing. They don't care and they're too arrogant to think they'll get caught."

Blair's lips compressed and he crossed his arms. "Give it a rest," he said hollowly. "I get it already. They're breaking the law. And some of them are probably under-age, and I agree that if only for that reason alone, it's got to be stopped."

Jim quirked a brow at the tone but shrugged. Sandburg obviously wasn't going to satisfy him with a fight, but he took some comfort from the fact that now they were both irritated with this case assignment. If Sandburg wanted to sulk because he pretty much considered prostitution a victimless crime, or because it was the oldest profession, or whatever, that was no skin off his nose. They rode in silence for the rest of the way back to the PD. However, once they got there and headed upstairs, Blair seemed to get over his snit and he did what he could for the rest of the afternoon to help Jim scroll through phone records to try to find something that might give them a lead.

At the end of the day when they returned to the parking garage and were heading to their respective vehicles, Blair said he had some stuff to do at Rainier before going home, adding he'd see if he could pick up on anything that would help. As he got into the Volvo, he called casually, "Depending on how it goes, I might be late. I'll grab something to eat at the Student Union cafeteria; don't wait up."

"Happy hunting," Jim replied sardonically, gratified that Blair really did seem to have decided to do as much as he could to help break the case. "Just don't stay out all night." Sandburg gave him a wry smile as he started up the car and pulled out.

Still, late that evening when it was time to hit the sack, Jim wasn't happy to go to bed alone. In the last year, he'd gotten used to having Sandburg curl up against him on the nights Blair didn't have to slave over his computer doing research or writing lectures, or over stacks of papers or exams to meet grading deadlines. He missed the kid when he wasn't there. Grimacing as he rolled on his side and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape, he had to admit, he also missed the sex. Sandburg was a man in his sexual prime and was pretty much insatiable; most nights when they retired together they enjoyed a very satisfying romp before the lights went out.

However, he could hardly complain when Blair was out chasing down leads on his behalf.

Closing his eyes, he consoled himself with the thought that his partner would be half-sprawled over him when he woke up, and he went to sleep smiling in anticipation of starting the day in his favourite way.

* * *

Blair tossed the green marking pen down on his desk blotter and wearily leaned back in his chair. Raking his hair off his face, he cast a dyspeptic eye over the stack of papers that still required grading.

But it wasn't the school work that had him feeling tense and out of sorts.

He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms over his head and swiveled to put some energizing music into the player behind him. Best thing about working late was that he didn't have to worry about listening at whatever volume he chose. His body subtly moving to the thrumming beat, he rifled in the desk drawer for a granola bar, and then poured another mug of coffee from the maker behind him. Standing, he wandered to the window to look out at the darkness as he munched and sipped. He didn't know what time it was exactly, only that it was late. His lips thinned as he thought about the hours he'd spent at the Student Union building earlier that evening, hours that would cost him a good part of the night to catch up with his own work. But he shrugged philosophically and ambled back to the desk, moving with unconscious grace in time with the music. Hopefully, if the ideas that had occurred to him while he'd chatted up grad students and a few still working on their first degree panned out, those hours wouldn't have been wasted.

Sitting down, he tossed the empty wrapper in the trash and topped up his mug. For a moment, he let his mind drift ... and, as usual, when left on its own, his mind drifted to Jim. He smiled, but wistfully, sadness in his eyes. He wanted to help Jim any way he could but ... but he had mixed feelings about trolling for clues amongst other students at the university. He always felt like a bit of a spy or traitor or something. Police work wasn't his job, but he could rationalize what he did, sort of, as an exercise in citizenship. In not standing aside where crimes were being committed when he could do something to help stop them.

But ... another but ... he knew what it was to be scrambling for money, trying to make ends meet for years and years. Knew what it felt like to run short and wonder how he was going to eat for a few days and, sometimes, where he was going to sleep. Shaking his head, he recalled Jim's vehemence earlier that day, his determination to go after these kids, whoever they were.

And he wondered if Jim had any clue about how hard it was for some people to survive in college.

Frankly, he very much doubted it.

And he hoped he was right, he really did. He didn't like to think about Jim being that scared, not that he could easily imagine someone so self-sufficient being afraid about something as simple as affording enough to eat. But, man, sometimes Jim's confidence and assurance seemed arrogant and cold; sometimes his sanctimonious certainty was hard to swallow. Recalling his irritation at his partner's ire that afternoon, he scraped his palms over his face and thought briefly of the fear he'd seen spark in Jim's eyes the first day they'd met, here in the office. Rubbing his arms, remembering Jim's rough grip that day, he swallowed and sighed. Jim had suffered a lot in other ways – more than enough, more than most – without having had to go hungry.

Forcing his thoughts back to the stack of exams on his desk, he returned to work. Hours later, finally finished, stiff from hunching over the papers for so long, he stood and stretched, cracking the bones in his spine. Briefly, he thought about going home, but he had an early class. He needed at least four hours of sleep to function and, if he stayed in the office overnight, that was about as much as he was going to get.

The drive to the loft and then getting up early enough to drive right back again would eat up nearly an hour of time he just couldn't afford to lose.

Grimacing regretfully, profoundly wishing he was home with Jim, he slumped onto the ancient, battered couch, drew a knitted afghan over his body and, clutching its edge under his chin, was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Jim woke with a frown, aware that he was alone before he was even fully conscious, and not at all happy about that fact. Glancing at the pillow beside him, he grimaced to see its pristine surface. No head heavy with curls had rested upon it last night. Listening, he could easily tell that Blair was nowhere in the apartment.

With a low, inarticulate grunt, he glanced at his watch and was shaking his head in annoyance when he reached for the phone, punching in the number that was more familiar than his own.

He listened to several rings before the receiver was fumbled, and a groggy, sleep-hoarse voice mumbled, "Jim? Hey, man – what time izit?

Listening to a massive yawn, Jim rolled his eyes and reported dryly, "Seven-thirty A.M."

"Oh, man, thanks for waking me," Blair replied, sounding slightly more awake. Jim could hear a palm rubbing a stubbled cheek, and then the click of the distant coffee maker being turned on, as his partner continued, "I've got an eight o'clock class. Good thing I've got my notes all ready for it – I just barely have time for a shower and shave."

"Why didn't you make it home?" he asked then, trying not to sound aggrieved just, er, curious.

"Well," Blair replied through another yawn, "I did some asking around and listening for a good part of last evening, trying to run down some possible leads. An' I think I've got a couple ideas, Jim. But I still had to grade those papers and get the results transcribed for posting. Didn't finish until after three A.M. Didn't seem like much point in goin' home just to turn around'n come back, ya know?"

Nodding to himself, regret flaring that Blair had given so much time he couldn't really spare just to help him out, he replied morosely, "I guess." He paused and then probed, "Possible leads?"

"Yeah, or at least a place to start looking – or rather people to start watching," Sandburg replied, but his voice was distant as if his attention was elsewhere. "Look, Jim, sorry, man, but I have got to run if I'm going to make my class. I'll get to your office by ten-thirty and I'll run my ideas by you then, okay?"

"Guess it'll have to be," he replied, knowing he sounded churlish and regretting it. "It'll be fine," he added to soften the impatient words and tone.

"'Kay, Jim," Blair agreed, sounding harried. "See ya soon. Love ya."

And then he was gone, no doubt rushing for the showers at the gym on his way to the lecture theatre.

Jim sighed as he hung up and rubbed the last of sleep out of his eyes. Moodily, he rose and went in search of his own shower and coffee, the easy, reflexive, "Love ya," still echoing in his ears ... and heart. They'd been lovers, sort of, since they'd gotten home from the Cyclops oil rig a year ago. He'd still been quaking inside about how close it had come – like the year before, when he'd believed the elevator in the Wilkinson Tower had blown. Too close. Both times. Too damned close. And there had been other close calls, other memories that he flinched away from, not wanting to deal with, let alone examine, how those memories, those moments, made him feel.

But there had been something about Blair's insistence upon ensuring every micro-drop of oil had been removed from every inch of skin, without leaving any rash or irritation behind, combined with his abject relief that Sandburg hadn't blown up that night, that had tripped them over some kind of invisible line. Before they knew it, their touches were more intimate, then more demanding, their breathing heavy, arousal clear – and they just kinda became, uh, bosom buddies. Jim's lips twisted at the euphemism, but he hated the alternative, 'fuck buddies'. They were more than that; they were firm friends, and loyal – if unofficial – partners in every way before they'd been caught in a heat that overwhelmed them both.

But they hadn't talked much about it and they hadn't made it exclusive. Nor had they made it public. Blair still kept all his gear in the little room under the stairs. He even slept there sometimes, if not often, when he worked late over papers or his computer and, most pointedly, when calling it an early night before the weekly poker game was quite over. They'd mutually decided to keep the truth of their relationship a secret to save them both a lot of complications Jim just didn't need at work.

Or, as if there wasn't somewhere more comfortable for him to spend the night, he ostensibly traded the futon for the sofa on the rare occasions that Naomi was visiting – to protect his mother from the knowledge that he was sleeping on a pretty regular basis with a pig.

Or, uh, when Jim brought other company home ... but then Blair tended to disappear for the night.

No, they hadn't talked about any of it.

Oh, Sandburg probably would have been willing to talk; that kid could talk at the drop of a hat or sideways look. But Jim wasn't ready to talk. Wasn't really sure what he wanted to say. Didn't know if he trusted what had happened, what _was_ happening between them.

Didn't know if he believed the easy way Blair said, "Love ya."

Hadn't said those words yet himself.

But feel them? Oh, well, now that was a whole other matter.

Which was why he figured he had to be careful, very careful, to keep it all ... casual. No big deal.

Because if he admitted how he felt, how exclusive he wanted their relationship to be, he'd be leaving himself wide open. He could just imagine the gaping look of appalled amazement on his buddy's face that would reveal, once and for all, that from Blair's perspective their liaison was fun and great an'all – but it was only a passing thing, right? A temporary convenience. Nothing real. Not _really_ real. Nothing forever.

Nothing was ever forever. Nothing. Most especially love.

Jim signed as he lathered his face, and asked himself the same question he'd been asking himself for a long time now: why on God's green earth would Sandburg want to stay with an aging cop for the rest of his life? And gave himself the same answer: once Blair had exhausted his fascination with 'the sentinel', he'd be on his way – and who could blame him?

But, God, he didn't want to blow what they had. Didn't want to hear that it wasn't real, wasn't forever. He wanted to enjoy it as long as he could, and didn't want to jinx it with a lot of pointless talk that would take them down a road to a fork that he didn't want to see. Inevitably, they'd get there soon enough when Blair finally wrote his damned paper and they shook hands and went their separate ways.

* * *

During his drive downtown, Blair mulled over his idea about the kids most likely to be involved in the student prostitution ring – if there even was such a ring and the information Jim had been given when he'd been assigned the case was accurate. Sighing, he grimaced and shook his head. He really, really did not like the idea of pointing a finger at kids who might not be doing anything wrong – but then he tried to console himself that if they were doing nothing wrong, then there'd be nothing to find out about them.

Except they'd be invading the students' privacy by searching school, tax and bank records and tailing them.

But if they _were_ breaking the law ....

His thoughts went round and round and round, going nowhere fast.

Tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel while he waited for a light to change from red to green, he tried to quell his roiling emotions. But it wasn't just the whole student thing. That was just the latest ... irritation? Anxiety? Potential source of conflict with Jim? Distraction from what really bothered him, right down to the core of his soul?

Which was, he sighed despondently, that he loved Jim with every fiber of his being but Jim didn't love him back, not the same way. Or at least he was pretty sure it wasn't the same way. His lips tightened as he thought about Lila and that pretty veterinarian up at Clayton Falls. Not to mention a woman who was married to the mob, a Russian emigrant, and a Fish and Wildlife Agent. Oh, sure, he'd gone on dates, too, and he winced as he thought of Iris and frowned when he thought about Katie and her daughter, Rachel. He'd tried to convince himself that he might be able to make a life with them but, when they'd had to relocate under the Witness Protection Program, he hadn't mourned their loss as he would have if he'd really cared deeply. Still, he wondered if Jim had noticed that he hadn't actually _slept_ with anyone else since ... well, since their first time, when they'd gotten home from the Cyclops Oil rig.

God, he felt like such a fool when he remembered that fateful night. He'd thought that ... that it was more than it had evidently – _obviously_ – been. He'd been deliriously happy; had thought that Jim was showing him that he loved him as much as he loved Jim. Wanted to be with him as much, for, like, ever. His eyes burned and he blinked furiously to clear them. He'd been such an idiot. As he'd realized the first time Jim had ... well, no point in going there. But it all boiled down to the fact that he was ... well, he didn't know what he was, exactly, in Jim's life. More than a friend, less than a beloved life partner. Somewhere uncomfortably in-between.

For going on two years now, he'd told himself he shouldn't be surprised. After all, why would Jim want to hook up with a 'neo-hippie, witchdoctor punk' for the rest of his life? And he'd told himself just to be damned glad and grateful that he had as much as he did with Jim. Those memories, when it was all over and done, would have to keep him warm for the rest of his life.

But he could tell himself to buck-up and get over it and be an adult, for God's sake, until he was blue in the face. It didn't change anything. Didn't take away the hurt when Jim brought someone else home – or didn't come home at all because he was with 'her', whichever 'her' it was. Didn't diminish the bone deep sorrow of knowing it all had to end and, probably, as each day passed, sooner now rather than later. The signs were there, clear to see. Jim was getting tired of him. The trip to Clayton Falls. The way he was working now more closely with Megan, for all his purported annoyance with her, than Jim worked with him anymore. Jim's furious hostility around the first chapter of his dissertation – however much his friend had tried to whitewash it the next morning.

Man, he did not know what to do about that paper. They were hounding him at Rainier to get it done, already ... but when it was done, then what reason would he have to keep hanging around? He'd been stringing his review board along, and still was, for as long as he possibly could. Hell. He didn't care if he ever finished it, so long as it meant he could stay with Jim, and keep working with him. But ... he couldn't keep putting it off forever, especially not now, when he knew, just _knew_ , Jim wanted him to be moving on.

Truth be told, he chided himself bitterly, that was part of his guilt over the students, wasn't it? He was prepared to point fingers at possibly totally innocent people just because he was glad Jim wanted his help, and he hoped he'd be the one Jim would take on the stakeouts. Just so he could be useful again because, God knew, Jim was handling his senses just fine and there wasn't much reason for him to still be hanging around. He was using the possibility that these kids _might_ be doing something illegal, as much as he hated himself for it, just to spend more time with Jim, when time was fast running out.

God, he was _so_ pathetic.

* * *

Knowing he was later than he'd promised, Blair dashed off the elevator and loped into the Major Crime Unit. Pasting on the smile and light-hearted demeanor he'd perfected long ago, long before he'd met Jim, actually, to hide thoughts and feelings he had to keep to himself, he skidded to a halt in front of Ellison's desk. "Hey, man," he panted, as he let the backpack slip off his shoulder, "sorry I'm late, but students lined up after class to talk to me, and then the traffic was –"

"Save it," Jim cut in, irritably waving off the usual excuses, "I don't want to hear it. So what's this 'lead' you're so hot to share with me?" Glancing at his watch, he added, "I hope it's worth the time I've been waiting to hear it." When Blair's animated, cheerful expression immediately morphed into apologetic uncertainty, he felt like a jerk. Why the hell did he persist in taking out his dissatisfaction with their relationship on the kid, especially when Sandburg was trying so hard – and losing sleep – to help him? Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face and waved to the chair next to his desk. "Sorry, Chief," he muttered wearily. "That was uncalled for. It's just this case is really bugging me – it's not like this is a major crime situation and Vice should be handling it, so we could be working on more important stuff. But the Mayor wants me on it, so the sooner we solve it, the better. I just want it done."

"Yeah, I understand," Blair replied as he slipped into the chair and let the backpack slide down his arm to the floor beside him. He raked his hair back and then got started on what he'd figured out the night before, as a starting point, anyway. "Okay. Well, I was thinking about who might be engaged in these illicit activities because they really need the money, you know?"

"Oh, come on – you're not still on the poor, impoverished student bit, are you?" Jim snorted, his tone scathing.

Blair's jaw tightened, but he pushed his reaction aside. "Just bear with me, okay?" he cajoled. When Jim nodded skeptically, he continued, "There are some students who need money more than others – the bright ones who rely on scholarships. The ones who are doing really well as undergrads, or working their butts off in grad school but, even though they get tuition and book money, don't have enough to pay the rent or buy food or cover all the other bills unless they get a job. Traditional ways of making money – waiting tables or working a bar, pick-up part-time work in offices or as lowly attendants at hospitals, even working as teaching assistants, and so on – take a _lot_ of time to make enough money, time they need for studying or research to keep up their grades."

"So you think they might be looking for opportunities to pick up a fast, good buck?" Jim mused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the idea.

"Exactly," Blair agreed, spreading out his hands like a magician who'd just conjured doves from a top hat.

"And there's a way to find out who these allegedly practically starving brain trusts are?" Jim probed, still not convinced.

"Yes, I think so, from the Admin records, tying grades to scholarships in high-priced and really competitive programs, like pre-med, law, engineering and dentistry. And narrowing it down to students who aren't living at home or in expensive frat or sorority houses, but have to spring for their own accommodation – their addresses on the records will give us that," he replied earnestly, and then gave a slight grimace. "But ... you'll need a warrant to get the information. And we may need another one, once we've got some names, to check bank balances and tax records, to check employers and incomes. Oh, and Administration also has student ID photos on file, so we can do a check to see who might fit the, uh, profile of possible high-priced prostitutes."

Jim scratched his cheek as he thought about it. "It's worth a try," he allowed. "Put together the paperwork to make a convincing case on the probability that this information will lead us to the perps, and I'll run it by Simon."

"Okay," Blair readily agreed, pushing the wheeled chair away from Jim's desk and rolling over to the next one that wasn't being used by other detectives. "It'll take me about half an hour," he added, as he fired up the computer.

"It's a good idea, Chief," Jim acknowledged with solid approval, and was pleased to win a wide, bright sparkling smile in return. So taken was he with the smile that he didn't notice the wistful gratitude mingled with poignant relief that clouded Blair's quickly averted eyes.

* * *

Armed with the first warrant, they made tracks to Rainier, where Blair applied all of his charm and winsomeness to soothing the ruffled feathers of the tall, thin, gray-haired senior administrator who was not happy about having to open student records for such specific searches within the most prestigious faculties. "You can't be serious!" she exclaimed, gaping at him and glaring at Jim, who was doing his bad cop impersonation with the looming presence and cold stare. "What interest could the police possibly have in some of our best students?"

"It _may_ be nothing," Blair soothed her, with a quelling glance at his partner. "But Detective Ellison has reason to believe that some nefarious individuals might be misleading these kids – or some of them, anyway – luring them into activities that are of, er, questionable legality by preying on their commitment to good grades and academic achievement."

Jim sighed. One brow quirked as he looked impatiently down at Blair, and he stuck his tongue firmly in his cheek to keep from biting it or saying anything.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied him and cocked her head before snapping, "Nefarious individuals? Young man, you've been watching too many melodramatic movies."

Jim snorted.

Blair flicked him a 'give me a break' look and then grinned at the harridan as he shrugged disarmingly. "Yeah, you could be right about that," he agreed cheerfully, and then sobered. "But this is serious, Mrs. Shaughnessy. These kids could be in trouble. Better for us to find out now before any of them get seriously hurt. And, uh, well, as I'm sure you know, Detective Ellison's warrant means that he has a legal right to search the records. You can trust him not to abuse the privilege."

"And by what right do you, a teaching fellow in this institution, also expect to see these records?" she demanded haughtily.

"Mr. Sandburg is aiding the police in this investigation," Jim stated repressively. Hard-pressed to keep from snickering, Blair shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and went back to looking winsome.

She harrumphed and her thin lips twisted, but then she sighed in defeat, and waved them deeper into her domain. Within minutes, Blair had input the search criteria into a computer and was sitting back, waiting for the results to fill the screen. When the names, photographs, grades, scholarship and grant information, and basic tombstone data flashed up, Jim leaned intently over his shoulder as he scrolled down through the pages. One by one, they deleted those living with their next of kin at addresses in the better suburbs, but Jim decided he wanted to retain the ones in fraternity and sorority houses.

"I still think these might be smart-assed kids looking for a thrill and a way to screw the system," he muttered, sotto voce. Blair shook his head but, conscious of the clerks and Mrs. Shaughnessy watching them like hawks, didn't waste time arguing in the less than private open office space.

Once they'd also eliminated the students that didn't have the physical appearance to fit the profile – which were only the really obvious geeks, as most enjoyed the healthy glow of youth coupled with the innate vibrancy of confidence – Jim said, "Print it."

While they waited for the pages to print out, Jim frowned as he mulled over what they had. "Sixty-two possibles – that's a good start and we'll narrow it down further with the financial checks. There could be as many as twenty involved in this racket so, with luck, this will lead us to quite a few, who will lead us to others or, as a minimum, give us enough to shut down the operation." He paused and pondered a moment more before adding, "None of them are under-aged."

"Yeah, well, given our search parameters, that's not surprising," Blair replied, not having really expected to find any. "Jim, there are very, very few students who start university young enough to still be under eighteen when they're in their last year of undergrad work, let alone already in graduate school."

"You were, weren't you?" he challenged. "And that kid, what was his name? Alec?"

"Yes, but there are only a couple students every few years or so who show that kind of academic promise," Blair explained with a shrug. "And some, like Alec, decide that they aren't socially ready and leave for a couple years to go back home, to grow up a little, to have fun with people their own age; and others, like me, are the geeks we eliminated because they didn't make the attractiveness profile."

A smile quirked Jim's lips. "Geek, huh?" When Blair just rolled his eyes, he patted Sandburg's shoulder as he continued teasingly, "Guess you must've slowed down some, huh, from such a 'promising start'? I mean, to still be working on your doctorate after, what? Thirteen, nearly fourteen years?"

"Slowed down some?" Blair echoed, as he turned away to retrieve the pages from the printer. Nodding slowly, shallowly, he allowed, "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Quickly slipping the pages into his backpack, he hoisted it over his shoulder and led the way out of the office, calling, "Thank you, Mrs. Shaughnessy. You've been very helpful, and we appreciate it."

A quizzical expression flitted over Jim's face as he followed his partner into the hallway, wondering at the un-inflected tone and Blair's failure to joke back. His partner kept up a swift pace, striding a half-step ahead of him along the busy corridor filled with students, to the exit, where he skipped rapidly down the stone steps. But Jim caught him by the arm when they hit the sidewalk, to slow him down. "Chief, I didn't mean anything back there. I mean about you being in school so long. I know you've been stringing out your dissertation to ... well, to keep helping me. And I appreciate that."

"S'okay, Jim," he returned, his gaze lifting to Jim's face, though he didn't quite make eye contact. Glancing away, looking over the campus, he added distantly, "I _was_ a geek when I first got here. And it _has_ been nearly fourteen years." He shook himself and flashed a smile. "But I know you were just pulling my chain. C'mon, we've got to run these financial records before I have to be back here for my evening study group."

A small frown furrowed Jim's brow. He felt as if he was missing something in the exchange, but he wasn't sure what. Letting it go, he briefly slipped his arm around Blair's shoulders for the first few steps toward the truck parked at the curb, before giving his lover a light-hearted slap on the back and hastening ahead. Blair was right; running the employment, income and banking checks would take at least the rest of the day.

* * *

By five PM, they'd run over forty of the kids' records, and found twenty-three who listed 'Body for Hire' as their part-time employer. Blair glanced up at the clock and then logged out of the computer. Jumping to his feet, he hastily inserted his notes into file folders, one for each student. "I gotta go, man," he said with an apologetic glance at Jim. "I've got to do some last minute prep for the study group that starts at six-thirty."

Standing to take the files Sandburg had been working with, to add them to the stack on his own desk, Jim said, "No problem, Chief. We've made great progress today – your idea is really panning out."

"Yeah, well, we might discover they're all waiting tables or washing windows, man," Blair cautioned as he hauled on his jacket and hefted his backpack over his shoulder.

"You're too old to be this innocent, Sandburg," Jim chided. "Besides, running these kids was your idea."

"Yeah, I know," he replied as stoically as he could manage. As he headed past Jim, his partner reached out to catch his arm lightly, staying him for a moment.

"You'll come home tonight, right?" he asked. His gaze flitting around the office, his voice lowering to more intimate tones, he added, "You could do with a night in a real bed, Chief."

His gaze sweeping seductively up Jim's body to meet his lover's meaningful gaze, Blair couldn't resist smiling. Didn't matter that he knew it was all just ... convenient. When Jim looked at him like that, made it clear he wanted Blair in his bed, an irrepressible spark of joy flared in his chest and he just felt happy. "That's the plan, man. Keep a light burning for me."

Ruffling his curls affectionately, Jim returned the wide smile with one of his own. "Don't stay out too late, Darwin – this burning the candle at both ends will wear even you out eventually."

Snickering, Blair ducked away. "Oh, I'm sure you can still remember how it is to be young, Jim. There's always energy to spare for the really important things in life."

As he turned to hurry on his way, he grinned at the low sound of Jim's sardonic chuckle rippling in the air behind him.

* * *

It was after ten by the time Blair finally made it back to the loft, and he was beginning to feel that he wasn't as young as he used to be. Fatigue hung on him like fifty pound weights and he ached with weariness. When he opened the door to the soft light of the fire and the tantalizing scent of a casserole being kept warm in the oven, he stopped for a moment, just inhaling with immense gratitude, so _much_ gratitude that Jim had literally kept the home fires burning for him.

"You look beat," Jim observed from his chair, where he'd been comfortably reading in the low, flickering light cast by the fire.

"Could be because I am," Blair admitted as he dumped his pack on the floor and hung up his jacket. "Thanks for having dinner waiting. I'm so hungry I could eat cow."

Moving lithely into the kitchen, Jim pulled two beers out of the fridge and uncapped them. Handing one to Blair, he motioned toward the table. "Take a load off, and I'll dish up. Nothing fancy, just tuna casserole and salad, and crusty rolls."

"Sounds like ambrosia fit for the gods, man," Blair sighed as he sank into a dining room chair and took a long sip of the icy cold beer. "Ahhh..." he murmured low in his throat. "It's good to be home."

Jim set the generously-loaded plate of food before him, along with cutlery, and then brought a basket of bread and butter before sitting down opposite his partner, studying him as Blair dug in rapturously. Shaking his head, he muttered, "You need to take time to eat at more regular intervals, Sandburg."

Blair just huffed a laugh and smeared butter on a warm roll. Before biting into it, he asked, "You work much later after I left?"

"A few hours," Jim told him. "Found another three possibles. Still got about ten suspects to run, but I can finish them up in the morning. We'll start the stakeouts tomorrow afternoon – since it's Friday, you finish at noon, right?"

"Uh huh," Blair grunted before swallowing. He took another swig of beer and offered magnanimously, "I'm yours from tomorrow noon until Monday evening."

Jim quirked his brows and shook his head sorrowfully. "Too bad we have to work."

His eyes dancing, Blair riposted, "Everyone has to sleep sometime."

"Sleep?"

"Well, at least go to bed for a few quality hours."

Nodding sagely, Jim replied with mock solemnity, "Well, Junior, I'd say you're showing more than your usual good sense with that observation." Scooping up the empty plate and the equally empty bottles of beer, he smirked at Blair's low, amused reply, "You're only saying that because it's what you want to hear. _Usually_ , you're not so effusive about my 'usual good sense'."

"Ah, but when you're right, you're right," Jim returned. Holding out the plate, he asked, "More?"

Patting his stomach with an air of sated contentment, Blair leaned back in his chair. "No, I'm good, man. Thanks."

After simply rinsing the dishes and leaving them in the sink, he turned back to Blair who was laughing softly. "Wow. You really must've missed me last night."

"Hmm," Jim growled low in his throat as he returned to the table and drew Blair up against him, embracing him as he lowered his head to cover Blair's mouth with his own. Pressing his groin against his lover's, he observed against Blair's lips, "Seems I'm not the only one who was lonely last night."

"Mmm," he murmured with a soft smile as he looked into Jim's eyes. "Bed?" he asked, and his tongue flicked out to lick delicately over Jim's lower lip, the tip just barely, teasingly, slipping into his partner’s mouth.

"Bed," Jim agreed with alacrity. When Blair turned toward the staircase, Jim smacked his ass lightly, and added wryly, "After all, a growing boy as young as you needs his rest."

Dancing away, Sandburg turned and waggled a finger at him, but Jim just gave him amused look of indulgence. "You didn't think I'd let that 'remember what it's like to be young' shit slip past, did you?"

Snickering, Blair shook his head. "No, man. I didn't." He paused and then added devilishly, "So, come on, big guy, and show me what you've still got!" And then, laughing merrily, he was bounding up the steps, Jim close on his heels.

Once upstairs, they made short work of stripping out of their clothing and peeling back the bed coverings. Blair leapt onto the pristine surface, pleased to note Jim had changed the linen in anticipation; more pleased to know Jim had been spending his hours alone as he waited thinking about him, about making love with him. Jim paused only long enough to rummage in the drawer of the bedside table for their supplies, and then he was crawling onto the bed, like a predator stalking his prey.

"Oh, I love it when you play the hunter," Blair crooned as he languidly stroked his erection. "So, can you smell how ready I am to be caught? Huh? Hear my heart racing in anticipation? The breath hot in my chest?"

Jim's growl was more a moan of unfettered desire as he pounced on his lover. Sandburg might be insatiable, but he had staying power on his side.

And, over the years, he'd learned just what Blair liked best.

Just as Blair had learned everything there was to know about giving him exquisite satisfaction. In fact, with his constant awareness of Jim's heightened senses, he'd taught the sentinel a few things about how to enhance his own pleasure ... and he gave Jim the priceless gift of freedom to let it all go with him, holding nothing back.

And Jim, knowing the gift had value only so long as he held Sandburg in his arms, treasured it and tried not to think about the day it would all be over.

Though he'd loomed over Blair like the panther that guided him, and though they sometimes liked to play rough, he was conscious of his lover's weariness, and was tender in his love-making. Taking his time, his lips, tongue and hands moving caressingly over Blair's body, he took pleasure in how his lover responded to his touch. After Blair had prepared him, and when Blair was ready, panting with passion, he knelt over his partner's body and lowered himself with seductive, maddening slowness onto his partner's shaft, the powerful muscles of his legs bunching as he controlled the pace of his penetration.

Fighting his urgent need to thrust, giving Jim the time he needed for comfort, Blair's hands fisted on the mattress and the muscles of his throat and neck tightened. His dark, impassioned gaze held Jim's eyes, and his mouth was open to drag in gulps of air. Licking his kiss-swollen lips, he groaned with want.

Jim slid down over him, until they were fully mated, and then he slowly began to rise until only the tip of Blair's cock remained inside. It was their unspoken signal, the moment when Blair could release his tightly-reined desire and thrust up as Jim came back down to meet him. The rhythm of their merging grew faster ... and faster. Blair braced the soles of his feet on the bed and grabbed the top of the bed-frame to give himself leverage as he thrust again and again and again, sinking deep and deeper, angling his thrust until Jim threw his head back, breaking their eye contact as he moaned with pleasure, and Blair's smile was a rictus of effort and pride, that he could do this. That he could give Jim such unbridled fulfillment. He shifted, reaching with one hand to clasp Jim's erection, pumping with the shared tempo that came so naturally to them, that had always been natural between them, right from the first time.

Nearly overcome by the sensuous joy surging within him, his orgasm so very close, Jim grunted, baring his teeth and clamping his jaw against the urge to let go. It was too soon and he had more planned. Beneath him, Blair was pumping like a piston, slamming into and past Jim's prostate, sending waves of pleasure through his body, and his eyes were closed as he concentrated on the movement of their bodies, almost losing himself to his own, overwhelming passion. He panted, holding onto control, knowing it wouldn't be much longer, and then Blair cried out inarticulately as he spurted deep, arcing his body up as if he wanted to disappear into Jim, become a part of him and never be parted.

Even as Blair's orgasm crested, Jim was rolling them, slipping off and to the side while he turned Blair onto his elbows and knees, his forehead pressed against the mattress, still panting, but his respirations and heartrate leveling off. As slowly as Jim had taken his lover, he entered, and made tender love to him until Blair was ready for more. Jim smiled and shook his head, remembering the days when he'd been able to recover as quickly. And then he closed his eyes and let himself go, able now to lose himself in their love-making, no longer having to hold onto any vestige of control.

And this time, they came together.

Utterly, even luxuriously sated, they lay in the darkness with only the dying flames of the fire illuminating the night. Jim drew Blair into a loose embrace, content to feel his partner curl against him, one leg covering his, one lean arm across his chest, and Blair's head on his shoulder, his breathing deepening as he slid toward sleep.

"Love ya, man," Blair whispered, no longer quite awake.

Jim swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, and whispered the truth he could only share in moments like this, under cover of the soft, snuffling snores, "I love you, Chief. Guess I always will." He drew Blair closer, cradling his partner's shoulders in his arms, and tenderly kissed his brow before letting sleep claim him, too.

* * *

Simon stared balefully at the phone, having just hung up after yet another conversation with the Mayor, who was increasingly impatient to see some results in the investigation underway. His lips were thin and tight, perhaps because he was pressing them closed against his aggravation that this case had been thrust upon his Unit. Though he didn't know why the Mayor was so hot to shut down this supposed ring of allegedly student prostitutes, he had his suspicions. The Mayor was ... competent. Did a good job. Was ethical.

Unfortunately, her husband was not. Why she stayed hitched to such a sleaze was beyond him and a few other people who knew more than she might be comfortable with. Shaking his head, he decided there was no accounting for taste – or the blinders fashioned by love.

She worked long hours ... Simon figured her husband had gotten lonely, and she'd seen something, heard something. Hell, maybe only guessed. Abruptly, he shook his head. No, she'd been too specific. Too sure that the rumored new escort service in town used students. Grimacing, he figured she'd seen her husband with a young woman she'd recognized; or maybe a young man. She'd been clear that 'her sources' indicated that the organization that did its business in the shadows was very modern in offering equal opportunity to both genders, both as providers of the services and as clients.

She knew a lot more than she was saying, he was certain of that. Sighing, he gazed up at the ceiling and then out the window. He supposed it was too much to wish she'd be more candid. If he was right, he could hardly expect her to implicate her husband – and have to contend with the firestorm when the press got wind of the story, let alone the fallout in her marriage – just to make his job easier.

She was ethical, yes. But she was also only human.

Standing, he went to the door and called to Ellison, waving him in. When they were both settled in chairs and had mugs of fresh coffee steaming in hand, he asked, "You getting anywhere on this case?"

"I hope so," Ellison replied, taking a cautious sip and then nodding appreciatively. None of that fancy flavoured stuff. Good dark, rich beans had gone into this brew. "Sandburg's idea may be panning out. I finished the last of the employment, financial and residence checks a few minutes ago. Twenty-eight of our possibles list 'Body for Hire' as their employer. _Eighteen_ of them pay a higher rent that they could afford on what they're claiming as income."

Simon's brow arched. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded. "That's interesting."

"Very," Jim agreed. Glancing at his watch, he went on, "Sandburg should be here any minute. We'll grab some takeout from the deli and begin tailing suspects this afternoon."

"How are you choosing who to watch first?" Banks asked.

Shrugging, Jim replied, "Alphabetical, by gender."

"Girls first," Simon assumed.

"No, boys. More of them are showing a discrepancy between income and spending," Jim told him.

Both brows lifted over the wire-rimmed spectacles as Simon wondered if the Mayor was as ethical as he'd believed. Maybe some kid was putting the screws to her, and demanding more than she could afford to pay to keep the guy quiet. His lip twisted at the unfortunate and unintended pun.

It could still be the husband.

Shutting his speculations away, he asked, "How do you want to play it?"

"Well, if we hit pay dirt, I want to move on to the next one on the list, and then the next, until we run through as many as we can by Monday," he replied. "If we get lucky ... uh, if we find evidence of illegal operations based in that so-called student employment agency, we can do a sweep on Monday and shut them down."

His lips twisting with sardonic humour, pleased he wasn't the only one caught in Freudian slips on this case, he nodded. "Okay. You let them run for the weekend and we'll cast the net when we've got enough to prove the connection. Sounds good. I'll be taking the weekend off, but if something breaks early, keep me in the loop."

"Will do, Captain," Jim agreed, finished his coffee and tilted his head. He heard Blair's voice, and his mouth twisted sardonically as he listened to his partner reflexively flirting with someone on the elevator. "Sandburg's here," he told Simon, who rolled his eyes, knowing that Blair was probably somewhere between the underground garage and their floor, but it could be a minute or more before he actually showed up.

"Good hunting," he said, and waved the detective on his way.

* * *

The first two kids they tailed produced disappointing results, at least so far as Jim was concerned. Both seemed to be gainfully – and legally – employed in upscale, very popular bars. Chewing on a toothpick left over from their lunch, Jim shook his head. "I don't buy it. No way could they be making enough money behind the bar to afford the apartments they've got."

"Tips, man," Blair returned pointedly as he massaged the back of his neck, trying to work out a kink. "Probably not declaring them for tax purposes." Giving Jim a sidelong look, he asked sarcastically, "Wanna run them in for tax fraud? Could be big news. Maybe they know where Hoffa is buried."

Giving him a flat look of annoyance, Jim switched on the truck's ignition. "We're wasting our time here. Best we can do is check back when they finish their shift, and see if they go home and stay there."

"Whatever," Blair yawned. "Not like I had other plans."

"What? No 'I told you so'?" Jim pushed, irritated to be coming up empty.

"I told you so, man," he replied agreeably, though he was well aware that he was only further inflaming Jim's frustrated anger. "I told you so."

"Yeah, well, the weekend isn't over," Jim retorted, steering into traffic. Drumming his fingertips on the wheel, he muttered, "We're missing something."

"The hand-out of job orders," Blair supplied, sounding grudging. He really didn't like this case, and Jim's almost feral determination to hunt the kids involved and bring them down bothered him big time. "Temp agencies usually assign the job of the day or weekend early in the morning. Pain in the ass having to get up at the crack of dawn to find out you're not working until the evening or all-night shift somewhere." Again yawning widely, he shivered and sniffed in the cool of the evening. "We should probably stake out the agency before seven-thirty tomorrow morning, see if any of our best bets show up ... and then see where they go."

"Don't tell me – you've worked for temp agencies at some point in your checkered career," Jim sighed as he headed toward home, accepting the evening was a bust.

Blair nodded as he stared into the night.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he complained, frustrated at having wasted the entire evening. "We should probably have staked out the agency this morning."

Leveling a straight look at him, Blair replied flatly, "We were up a little late last night, Jim – I don't know about you, but the idea of getting up again after less than four hours of sleep really didn't appeal to me. Besides, you still had checks to run."

"That's not the point," Jim snapped heatedly.

"Would you just relax," Sandburg drawled wearily, wishing belatedly that he'd argued the futility of the afternoon and evening tailing and stakeouts. Sure, he'd wanted to spend time with Jim, and his partner was so hot to do something, anything, to push the case forward, that he doubted Jim would have listened to him anyway. And they might actually have tripped over something. But the evening had been a colossal waste of time, and they'd both been too tired to enjoy being stuck in the confines of the truck for so many hours outside one apartment building and then another, while Jim tuned in to see if he could pick up on anything going on inside. Defensive but hiding it by redirecting, he went on, "If any of these kids are into high-class hooking, you'll catch them. I know you want to wind up this case in a hurry, but it's not like anyone's dying here, Jim. We've got all weekend. For that matter, what does it matter if it takes another week?"

Loathing the case and anxious to be done with it, Jim muttered testily, "Let's hope we get better results tomorrow. When we get home, I want to go over our list of suspects again. Maybe ... maybe go by faculty rather than by name. Pick out the ones in the most competitive fields – the ones who need to maximize their study time."

"Whatever," Blair agreed, though without much animation.

"You're still giving me mixed messages about this case, Chief," Jim growled. "One minute, you're coming up with great ideas, the next you're withholding useful information and lacking much interest in the process. Your attitude sucks."

"Yeah, well, I guess I understand the pressures these kids are under," he sighed. He knew his mixed feelings about the case annoyed Jim, but they were all wound up with his mixed feelings about Jim himself. When the glare didn't abate, he felt badly about letting his partner down. Raking his hair back, and scrubbing his face, he said, "I want to help you. You know that. But ... but this case, man. It's not like your usual thing, you know?"

"Doesn't make it any more legal," Jim sniped defensively. "Frankly, your attitude since we started this case is beginning to royally piss me off."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. You've made that perfectly clear."

"You should have told me about the job order routine," Jim lectured sternly. "Failure to do so could be considered an obstruction of justice."

"What? You want to arrest a student so bad, you'll arrest me to prove your point? Is that what you're saying?" Blair exclaimed, growing angry.

"I was up early enough this morning to have gotten there in time to stake the place out," he replied grimly, his jaw clenched.

"Well, good for you," Blair grated, equally sick and tired of Jim's attitude about the case. "You got a little more sleep the night before last than I did, in case you've forgotten. I figure we're now about even in the sleep deprivation department this week."

" _Even?_ " Jim rumbled dangerously. "What the hell does being even have to do with anything here? We're on a case, Junior. That means we do whatever it takes to get the job done."

Turning around, more animated than he'd been all day, he demanded, "What the hell difference does it make if you track them down tonight, or tomorrow, or sometime next week? Dammit, Jim. You're like a dog with a bone on this case. They're just kids, trying to earn a fast buck. They aren't gangsters or drug pushers or serial killers. You act like you resent them personally, man. Get a grip."

"Get a grip?" Jim argued hotly. "Now you listen to me. You're the one who pointed out that it's probably the brightest students in professional programs who are running us in circles here and probably getting their jollies over thumbing their noses at us. They are willfully breaking the law, choosing to do so, because in their intellectual arrogance they think they're above the law. Well, they're not."

"Nothing's proven yet," Blair hissed thinly. "Right now, they are still only students looking for ways to get through school successfully without starving to death along the way."

Jim snorted. "Trust me, Chief. These brats don't need your compassion. And I'm going to prove that to you, whether you like it or not."

"Or die trying," Blair muttered aggrievedly.

"Will you stop siding with them!" Jim raged.

"When you stop convicting them summarily before you've got proof that they're more than what they say they are, man," Blair fired back, crossing his arms and staring moodily into the night.

The heated irritation between the two of them built in the aggrieved silence of the rest of their trip home. Once they arrived, their simmering anger continued unspoken but evident in expressions and tense body language. Not hungry, and manifestly uninterested in pursuing their conversation further, Blair headed almost immediately up to bed.

By the time Jim followed a short time later, Blair was already sound asleep. Fuming silently, Jim crawled in to lie rigidly on his side, facing away from his partner and toward the stairs.

* * *

Tension from their argument the evening before still lingered between them when they woke and hurried through their morning ablutions in time to rush over to stake out the employment office before seven AM. They'd filled a thermos with coffee and grabbed a couple of bagels on the way out the door, and sat sipping and munching in silence. About twenty minutes after they'd parked on the corner of a side street that gave them a clear view, they saw Mark Connolly and Ted Wilkins, the two business students who ran the small agency, arrive to unlock the door and set up for the day.

Ten minutes after that, students garbed mostly in jeans, sweatshirts, jackets and sneakers, began to show up, straggling in singly or in groups of twos or threes. Armed with the photos from the administration files, they watched for any that were on their list. Within fifteen minutes, they spotted their seven male and eleven female prime suspects, several arriving together in groups of two or three. Jim smiled grimly and tilted his head, frowning as he concentrated on listening to the muddle of conversations in the place several hundred feet away. Blair slid a bit closer and lightly laid a hand on his partner's thigh, to keep him grounded.

Students began leaving, almost as soon as they arrived, shoving slips of paper into their pockets, and hustling off down the street. Before long, only their eighteen were still in the agency. Jim swallowed and pressed his eyes closed, straining to hear. His jaw clenched and he nodded tightly. "Got'em," he rasped, his posture relaxing.

Blair withdrew his hand and slid back in his seat, and he regarded Jim curiously. "What?"

"I didn't get it all, but two, Steve and Jason for the boys' team, and Lee-Ann and Melody, have been booked for afternoon massages, and the others have evening appointments," Jim replied, all business, and then gave him the half-dozen addresses he'd overheard clearly, while Blair busily scribbled them down in his notebook.

Switching on the ignition, Jim drawled, "Well, Chief, I guess we were both right. Some of these kids are trying to get by with an honest living – but some are in more of a hurry to get rich."

"Yeah, guess so," Blair agreed, his tone bleak. He'd been hoping that he'd been wrong, that his idea wouldn't pan out. He was sorry so many students, and the student-run agency itself, were mired in illegal activities.

Jim glanced over at him, but didn't reply as he pulled into traffic. There were far too many for them to tail all on their own, so he headed downtown to arrange for other teams to be assigned to some of the work. Even with help, they wouldn't be able to keep tabs on all the kids that evening, but he hoped that, collectively, they would obtain enough to break the case open.

* * *

Armed with cameras, directional sound microphones and recorders, and photographs along with the suspects' names and addresses, Connor, Rafe, Brown, and Jim, along with Blair, each tailed a suspect in the afternoon and again that evening. Just after eleven PM, once they had completed their surveillances, they got together at the PD and went over what they had.

Which was plenty; more than enough to tie 'Body for Hire' into prostitution. But they didn't have evidence on all the players, so they debated moving first thing Monday morning or waiting until they had more of the goods on the other students involved.

"I'll call Simon tomorrow, and get back to you on that," Jim finally said, glancing at his watch and deciding he didn't need to disturb their boss that late on a Saturday night. "I suspect he'll want to get a warrant for a phone tap on the agency, to lock down the case, so that'll mean having to let them run for another few days." Looking around at his colleagues, he smiled as he said, "Good work, everyone. And thanks for being willing to give up a lot of your day off to help out. Really appreciate it."

They packed up and said their good-nights in the parking garage before each headed home. Jim was in good spirits, having finally cracked the case, and knowing the rest was mostly about tying up loose ends before they made the busts later in the week.

"We got them," he crowed smugly as he steered onto the street. "I told you I was going to bring that operation down. We'll have the arrest warrants by mid-week. Can't wait to see the looks on Connolly and Wilkins' faces when they're arrested – thought they were so smart they could be above the law."

A lot less light-hearted, Blair muttered, "Yeah, you got them, alright. But I'll pass on being there for the arrests, if you don't mind."

"They're criminals," Jim retorted defensively.

"They're kids," he replied dully, staring out at the night. "Kids that used to have a bright future, but that's ruined now."

Resenting the drag on his pleasure at having made a breakthrough, by the time they got to the loft Jim was simmering with irritation. Tossing his keys in the basket and hanging his jacket on the hook by the door, he snapped, "You know, I've really had it with your attitude on this case, Sandburg. We caught them in the act. What more do you want?"

"I guess I'd like you to gloat a little less, Jim," Blair replied angrily. Lifting his hands, palms out, he went on, "I know what they're doing is illegal. I'm not saying they shouldn't be arrested. But do you have to get such joy out of it? Every one of them is up against the wall financially, and they made some bad decisions, some really big mistakes getting into this, agreed. But can you imagine what's going to happen to them in jail, let alone in prison? These are young, good looking kids. God," he rasped, raking his hair back, "makes me sick to think about it." Turning away, shaking his head sorrowfully, he murmured, "There but for the grace of God ...."

"What's that?" Jim snapped, his gaze narrowing, unwanted but unavoidable sick suspicion blooming in their depths. "What do you mean by that? For God's sake, it's not like these kids had it all that rough. They're university students. How hard could it be?"

Shrugging as he wandered into the kitchen to make tea, Blair explained, "I was poor, too, Jim. I know what it's like to wonder where the rent money is going to come from. I guess I understand the pressures and why they caved into them."

"Oh, yeah?" Jim replied, his tone challenging as he followed his partner, crowding his space, not wanting to hear it. Very much wanting – needing – to know that Sandburg wasn't saying what it sounded like. "Is that why you've been so reluctant to be involved all week? Because you _know_ how hard it is and you _understand_ their choices?"

Frowning, Blair looked up at him as he waited for the kettle to boil. "What are you getting at?"

Shrugging, his tone one he more routinely used in interrogations than with his partner, Jim taunted, "Guess I'm just beginning to wonder just how well you do understand these kids, and why you've been so uneasy, even like you feel a little guilty, for helping me go after them. Guess I'm wondering just how you did pay the bills."

"What?" Blair exclaimed, his mouth dropping open in shocked surprise and his eyes narrowing in disbelief at the insinuations.

"Well, with a mother like yours," he shrugged, needing to find excuses for Sandburg in case ... in case his suspicion was true. "She may not have taken cold hard cash. I guess you could say she took out in trade. But I can see how growing up in that environment might leave you thinking that selling your body –"

He got no further.

Fury blossomed in Blair's eyes, and his face flushed with ire. **_"You sonofabitch!"_** he shouted as he hauled off and slugged Jim on the jaw, driving him back against the island. "How _dare_ you say things like that about my Mom!" he yelled, and his fury loosened the reins he'd been holding on his tongue all week. Crowding Jim, snarling in his face, poking him hard in the chest, he raged, "What the _hell_ do you know about living in poverty, man? Huh? About having a kid when you're barely seventeen and loving him and doing everything you could for him? And what does my background have to do with anything here?" Taking a breath, stepping back, he waved his hands, pushing them against the air as if pushing anything about his mother out of the discussion. Glaring at Jim, he seethed, "We _checked_ the backgrounds of these _'perps'_ , Jim. We know they have _no_ financial backing of any kind. They had to find every last _dime_ they needed to survive, without any help past an academic scholarship that maybe paid their tuition and books. What were they supposed to live on? _Air?_ How are they supposed to keep up their grades if they're slaving away waiting tables or washing windows to make ends meet? Huh? You in your big fancy house, the big jock at school! When did _you_ ever have to go hungry, huh? Yeah, yeah, I know. You had such a tough childhood. Your Dad was so mean and cruel – _bullshit_ , man. I've met William. No way could he have been the bastard you describe, who was so into mental cruelty and manipulation! Sure, a man grieving for the death of his marriage, that I can believe. A man who didn't know how to express love except to help his sons grow up with the toughness of spirit he thought they'd need to survive in this world – absolutely. But don't you tell me he didn't love you and give you _everything_ he had in him to give! And in your contempt and resentment for him, when it was time for you to go to university did you turn down his help with the tuition? Did he pay the fees for the fancy frat house you lived in? Because I bet you did live in a frat house – all the rich kids do, unless they have even more fabulous apartments or condos. You hated him, but you took him for what you could get until you got out of that house, and got your degree – and you never forgave him for giving you a safe, secure, indulged childhood. And I bet you took his money without even blinking, figuring it was his job to pay – so who's the prostitute now, eh, buddy? Well, good for you for having such unswerving principles. Don't you _dare_ stand in judgment of my mother because you resent the fact that I had a mother and you didn't. You had everything else, man. _Everything_ else."

Straightening under the tirade, rubbing his bruised chin, Jim scowled at the furious diatribe. He grabbed Blair and shook him, to make him stop, but Blair twisted out of his grip and shoved him away, too angry to keep holding it in.

"You think I prostituted myself to pay my bills?" he growled. "Is that what you really think? Do you think that's what I'm doing here? Sleeping with you to make ends meet, absolutely no pun intended! That I've been using you that way? Using myself that way? After all this time – you could really think that? Believe it? Well, fuck you, Jim Ellison. I so do not need this. Don't need you."

He pushed past and stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him, while Jim gaped after him, aghast at the typhoon of fury he'd unintentionally unleashed. Blinking in confusion, he ran through his memories of all Sandburg had just said, first furious with Blair's seething commentary about his father, about accepting the money, about not having a clue about being really impoverished. But then, shaking with the effort to contain his emotions, he swallowed hard, and accepted that, maybe, Sandburg had a point.

His shot about Naomi had certainly been way out of line.

And he hadn't seriously thought Blair had ever prostituted himself – had he? Just because the kid could empathize with the students they'd be arresting, didn't mean he had – did it? No. No, of course it didn't. How could he have been so stupid as to suggest ....

The French doors slammed open, cutting off Jim's struggle to work out what the hell had just happened. Blair strode out, a stuffed carry-all over his shoulder. Alarmed, Jim demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," he snapped, refusing to make eye contact. Grabbing his jacket from the hook and heaving the backpack over his shoulder, he reached for the doorknob.

"Wait," Jim called, striding toward him. "Chief, I didn't mean –"

But, with a resounding bang, the door was already slamming shut in his face.

For long moments, Jim stood irresolute, wincing when he clenched his jaw and again rubbing it gingerly. He heard the sputter and catch of the Volvo engine, and the squeal of the wheels as Blair angrily gunned the car along the street. And then he was grabbing his own jacket and keys. He couldn't let Blair go on believing he'd meant what he'd said in a moment of angry irritation. Couldn't let him go like this.

Couldn't lose him like this.

* * *

Blair parked outside Hargrove Hall, but left his gear locked in the trunk. He needed wide open spaces and a lot of fresh air to calm down and get some grip on his enraged emotions. Loping across the grass, he headed down the long hill toward the water. On the edge of the land, the ocean washing against the rocks below, he drew in long, deep breaths and forced himself to unclench his fists. Once he was past the point of feeling he was about to shatter with rage, and his breathing was more under control, he turned and walked slowly toward a nearby bench. Sinking down upon it, he stared at the moonlit bay and then, bracing his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his still shaking hands.

God, how could they have come to this? Did Jim really think he was sleeping with him just to ... what? Be allowed to study his senses? Have a decent place to live for a reasonable rent? Did Jim really think that about Naomi? Pressing his eyes closed, sick at heart, Blair knew that part of his rage was drawn from his guilt about having sometimes come close to the edge of thinking the same things about her. But it wasn't the same, was it? Naomi couldn't be categorized. She was ... was a free spirit. She didn't sleep with men to get a roof over her head or food in her mouth. Believing that the earth would provide, she never thought about such prosaic things. She danced from one man to another for the sheer fun of it. For the joy of being so alive. For the experience of intimately sharing that time, in that place. And then, she moved on, looking for new experiences, new places. She was like a butterfly, pretty and unpredictable, inconstant, a flash of colour and delicacy, and then gone.

Blinking against the emotional burn in his eyes, he regretted having slugged Jim, and some of the things he'd said. It wasn't his place to judge his partner, his lover, on the relationship Jim had with his father, either now, or the one he'd had before he left home to join the Army. But he just felt so badly for the kids they'd caught, knowing their lives were ruined because they'd made some bad decisions. He just couldn't keep listening to Jim gloating about having caught them, when he knew why they'd succumbed to temptation and understood the pressures on them so well.

Hearing the low, well-tuned rumble of Jim's truck up on the drive behind him, Blair sighed and, his head still in his hands, wondered what he was going to do now. _'Detach with love,'_ whispered in his mind, sounding a lot like his mother's voice, and he grimaced. For most of his life, he'd tried living by that credo, but it didn't work for him. He wanted a different life than Naomi did. Wanted a home and the constancy of sharing a lifetime of love and shared purpose. Foolishly, he had wanted those things so very much with Jim. But he wasn't sure there was any way back, or even any point in trying to find the way. Jim didn't love him, not in 'forever' terms.

Maybe, when he got right down to it, there really wasn't anything to go back to. His gut cramped and he shuddered, fighting the urge to vomit at the thought that it was over with Jim; that it could end like this.

He heard feet scuffling through the grass and then padding along the pavement toward him. And he felt the creak and shift of the wood of the bench when Jim sat down silently beside him, close but not touching him.

"I was out of line," Jim murmured quietly, sounding sincere. When Blair didn't respond, he added, "I want you to come home."

Blair lifted his head and, his hands braced on his thighs, eased back on the bench to stare out over the water toward the dark horizon. "Why?" he asked, his voice tight against his chaotic emotions.

For a while, he wasn't sure that Jim was going to answer him, then, "I need your help at work. I still can't do this on my own."

His lips thinned against the shaft of pain that spiked inside, but he nodded. "I can help you at work without living in the loft," he replied, struggling to keep his voice from cracking, wondering why he didn't just give in and go home. Why he kept fighting it, his need to be there. To be with Jim. But he told himself such need wasn't healthy, and would only, eventually, lead to heartbreak when the time came that Jim didn't 'need' him anymore. All Jim really wanted was his help at work, his help in marshalling those extraordinary senses. The rest of it was just ... convenient, and no more than that. The idea of being cast-off or, worse, their friendship eroding into awkwardness until he grudgingly, sorrowfully, left of his own accord, held him to his resolve that it was over.

"I didn't mean what I said about your mother," Jim ventured then, uncertainly, and Blair wondered if he was trying to find the apology that would get him to relent. He turned his face away, refusing to let go, to say it was alright.

"And I shouldn't have implied I thought that you ever ... I don't," his partner went on haltingly. "Or that I think you're ...."

When his voice died away, as if lost in misery, Blair cleared his throat and sighed. "I know. You were just angry," he allowed, his voice thin. Chuckling bitterly, he shook his head. "Some detective you are," he went on, half-rueful, half-sarcastic. "You'd think after noticing that I'm still in university after nearly fourteen years, that you'd've figured out that I haven't exactly been taking the express ride to fame and fortune."

When Jim didn't say anything, but laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, somehow transmitting strength and affection, Blair sighed wearily. Needing to be very clear that Jim's half-formed suspicions were entirely unfounded, his voice low, reflective, he continued slowly, "I was barely sixteen when I started at Rainier, full of myself for being so evidently brilliant, and certain my future was made. But it didn't take long to find out there was never enough money, not for a place to live, not even for food. My scholarships only covered tuition, and about a third of the cost of books, but not of supplies, and nothing for residence fees. Forget food. Among my professors, there were pretty high expectations that I'd just zing right on through undergrad and postgraduate work, scoring perfect grades along the way, to justify having granted me entrance so early, based only on the results of my entry exams. And I was a geek – so much younger than the others that I didn't really fit in anywhere. Not that I had time for dates or parties, anyway. I was working my butt off at whatever part-time job I could get. All the usual stuff like waiting tables and washing windows. Working as an orderly at Cascade General. Doing grunt work on the docks. Driving that semi with my uncle one summer. By studying and writing papers in all my free time, going without sleep, I managed to live up to everyone's expectations and finished my undergrad work in two years. But I was exhausted. As fast I kept running, as hard as I tried, it wasn't working. I could never make ends meet. And, God, I was sick of being hungry all the time – it was better when I finally stopped growing and didn't need as much food."

"Ah, Chief," Jim sighed sadly.

"Don't," Blair said, lifting a hand as if to ward off a blow. "I'm not telling you this stuff to make you feel bad. It's just the way it was. I shouldn't have said what I did back in the loft, I know that. But you don't know. You don't know what it was like. How hard it can be for some of these kids."

He paused and shook his head at the memories. "Anyway," he continued, rambling now as he tried to connect his feelings about the case to the reality of his past, his voice barely above a whisper, "Like these kids, I had a chance to make the same kind of fast, easy money. Had enough offers," he laughed bitterly, "that's for sure; I was young, didn't fit in with my peers, but I wasn't butt-ugly. And it would have been so easy, the answer to all my problems. But ... I was never comfortable with the idea of selling my body – it was all I had and I didn't want to use it that way, or hurt myself that way; didn't want to have those memories, I guess. I know I've slept around some – but I've never slept with anyone I didn't honestly care about and want to be with. But I can understand all too easily why these kids would succumb, how easy it would seem to them. And I couldn't do what Alec did. Couldn't go home to grow up for a few years; to have fun with friends. I didn't have either a home or friends to go back to. So ... I got a job welding for a few years, and I made better money than my bachelor's would have gotten me. I stuck as much of it as I could in the bank. Made some good bets on the ponies, and got enough of a stake that I could ease up a bit, though I still needed more savings before I could go back to grad school because I knew the research I wanted, _needed_ , to do wouldn't allow me the time to work at anything else. So then I got work on field projects; didn't pay great, but the experience looks really good on my resume, you know? And at least it was in my field. At least I was still learning about stuff I cared about."

"Blair –"

"Just let me finish, okay? Just ... just listen," he again cut in, his eyes downcast. He couldn't bear Jim's regret or sorrow, couldn't stand the thought of looking at Jim and maybe seeing pity in his eyes.

"Okay, Chief, I'm listening."

Looking up at the stars, nearly done, he continued doggedly, "Of the last nearly fourteen years, I've spent seven working to pay my way for the other seven, and of those seven, I've spent three with you – and after all the years, all the work, you saw the way I was living when we first met. I sure wasn't in deluxe digs, but I couldn't afford anything better. I could have finished the dissertation well over a year ago, but I didn't want to stop working with you. And, it's true, if you weren't charging me such reasonable rent, I couldn't have afforded the time I've spent working with you since we met. But that was never why I've been sleeping with you." He scrubbed his face before murmuring, "I used to be on the fast track, the bright protégé, someone special, years ahead of the other students. But that was a long time ago. Now ... now I'm just another teaching fellow, ABD – all but dissertation. No one special. Not anymore."

He felt Jim's grip on his shoulder tighten, and a slight tug, and he knew his lover wanted to hold him, hug him, share comfort. But he couldn't let go of the tightness in his body, couldn't get past the feeling that it was all hopeless anyway, so there was no real point in going back to keep trying, to keep hoping, that Jim might fall in love with him someday and want to spend a lifetime with him. Wasn't going to happen and he had to accept that. Might as well accept it now.

"I didn't think that was why you ... we ...." Jim tried, but his voice caught.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Blair shrugged and shivered. "It's late," he said quietly. "You should go home."

"What about you, Chief?"

"I'll be fine," he replied, his voice flat. "I took care of myself for a long time before I met you. I can do it again. Don't worry about me, man."

"Look, Blair, this is crazy," Jim protested, tugging harder now. "C'mon. Let's just go home."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," he replied hollowly. Having to get away from that touch before he gave in to his desire to go home with Jim, he pulled away from Jim's grip on his shoulder. Rising to his feet, Blair walked to the chain at the edge of the pavement that edged on the sea. "Go home, Jim," he reiterated firmly. "I'll see you at work on Monday. I'll be there for the meeting with Simon, and we can sort out when you’ll need me for the rest of the week. And, uh, I'll make arrangements to get the rest of the stuff out of your apartment."

"Ah, shit," he heard Jim sigh and he closed his eyes, though he resisted the need to bow his head, and forced himself to keep his shoulders straight and his chin up. There was the sound of footsteps behind him, and then two strong hands gripped his shoulders, holding on tightly.

"Don't do anything hasty," Jim murmured huskily. "We need to work this out."

"What's to work out?" Blair asked, fighting the treacherous urge to lean back against his lover. "You said ... you said you only want me back to help with your senses at work. I don't have to live in the loft to do that. I'll keep helping you, Jim. Don't worry about that."

"I'm not worried about that, dammit," he grated. "Where will you stay? In your office?"

"I'll be fine," he replied, avoiding a direct answer, not knowing the answer for anything beyond that night. "Good night, Jim."

The hands on his shoulders lingered a moment more, but then Jim shifted to kiss him lightly on the temple before stepping back. As Blair listened to him walking slowly away, tears brimmed in his eyes and one spilled over his lashes to trail down his cheek.

* * *

Jim drove slowly down the long laneway toward the gate from the campus, but his eyes burned and blurred, and he had to pull over. Looking back across the grounds, he could still see the lonely figure standing by the water, proud head now bowed. Shutting off the engine, he got out of the truck and stood leaning against it, his arms crossed, as he watched Blair and thought about everything that had happened. He'd known all week that his partner had had a tough time with this case, but he hadn't listened to the reasons. Hadn't paid attention. Had just been glad when Blair had gotten his act in gear and had provided the insight that had helped him break the case wide open.

Why hadn't he listened?

Because ... because his time at university had been a cakewalk, and he hadn't credited Blair's view that not everyone had it so easy. Thinking back now, he remembered the years in the frat house – Blair had been right in his assumptions. His father had paid the full tab and, at the time, Jim had only thought that was to be expected. He couldn't remember noticing that other students were having a tough time of it economically. But, then, he hadn't looked, hadn't thought about it. Had been fully engaged in his own world. Sighing, he rubbed his face and wished he'd paid more attention to what Sandburg had been saying all week.

Not that it would have changed the outcomes. He was a cop. He had a job to do. But, yeah, maybe he wouldn't have crowed so much about having been right that the agency was pimping and that some students were selling themselves, not just their labour.

Oblivious to his presence, Sandburg turned from the water and trudged slowly back up the hill toward his car, distracting Jim from his thoughts. Holding his breath, Jim hoped that Blair had decided to return to the loft, but his partner just took his carry-all and backpack from the trunk before disappearing into the dark building. He'd meant it. He wasn't coming home.

"Dammit," Jim muttered as he got back into the truck, but still he didn't drive away. Instead, he sat there and thought about what Blair had said down by the water. That he'd never slept with anyone he hadn't cared about. Asking why Jim wanted him to go back home. Saying he wasn't special, not anymore. But Jim knew, without a doubt, that if Blair had had his advantages in life, the wunderkind would have gotten his PhD years ago.

But then they might never have met. And he couldn't imagine that. Couldn't imagine not having Blair in his life.

Engulfed in sadness, Jim finally, slowly, drove off the grounds and back through the empty streets. As he got closer to home, he was dimly aware of the shriek of someone's smoke alarm, and then he frowned as it got louder and louder, intruding into his thoughts. When he pulled up in front of the loft and parked, he finally realized with no little concern that it emanated from his building – and then he realized the hideous noise was coming from his apartment, and he bounded inside and up the stairs. Before he got to the third floor, he could smell an acrid, metallic scent, and wondered what the hell was wrong. The upper hall was empty and, as he opened the door, he remembered the neighbours were away on some extended holiday.

Smoke swirled in the air, and there was a sick, low rattling whine emanating from somewhere in the kitchen, and it was then that he knew what had happened. Neither he nor Blair had thought about the kettle set to boil before everything had gone to hell. He strode swiftly across the floor and cursed as he turned off the heat under the kettle that had boiled dry and was on the verge of meltdown. Swiftly, he tossed it in the sink, turned on the cold water to cool it and hurried to open the doors to the balcony, to air the place out. The ongoing wail of the smoke detector bludgeoned his ears, and the fumes burned his eyes and nose, and made him cough. In the bathroom, he dampened a cloth to hold over his mouth and nose to protect himself from the fumes, and then grabbed a towel to wave through the air to drive the smoke outside. A minute later, the alarm silenced and, dropping the linens, he stood rubbing his ears. The place stank, the noxious odour overwhelming every other scent.

Misery filled his eyes when he realized there was no lingering trace of Blair in the air, and he was too emotionally distraught to focus on that thing Sandburg helped him do with his senses, isolating and setting aside smells to find the subtler scents. His throat tight, he bounded up the stairs and crawled onto the bed. Burying his face in his lover's pillow, he breathed deeply and felt some solace in the traces of the familiar fragrances that lingered there. "This isn't over," he rasped despairingly. "Can't be over. Not yet. Not now." Clutching the pillow close, feeling numb and disoriented by the events of the last hour, he eventually slipped into asleep.

* * *

Blair woke with a groan, his muscles stiff from sleeping restlessly on the old, battered sofa in his office. He eased himself up and stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders and neck before standing to arch his back, wincing at the low crack and pop of cartilage and bone. Grimacing, he grabbed his shaving kit and some clean, if wrinkled, clothing from his bag and left his office for a shower and swim at the athletic centre.

After sixty laps, a shower and a shave, he felt somewhat more human, if still deeply despondent. Unable to bear simply sitting alone in his office, he grabbed a heavy text from his bookshelf and a notebook, and headed over to the Student Union building, to get something to eat and a large, very large, cup of coffee. Half an hour later, seated at a table in the corner, oblivious to the world around him, he was munching on an apple and doing his best to focus on updating his notes for his next lecture to the Anthropology 101 class. When two people dropped unceremoniously into the chairs across the table from him, he looked up, and was surprised to see Mark Connolly and Ted Wilkins.

"Hey," he said, leaning back and pushing his hair behind his ears. "How's it going?"

Mark, a beefy blond, shrugged and replied pointedly, "Maybe you can tell us. What was with that cop on steroids the other day?"

"Yeah, and how come you were with him?" Ted threw in. The thin, sandy-haired student leaned his elbows on the table, his manner and tone subtly aggressive.

Blair looked from one to the other as he pasted a nonchalant expression on his face. "I'm doing my dissertation on closed societies, and riding with Detective Ellison is a part of my field work," he told them with no trace of defensiveness. "And, yeah, Jim has his Joe Friday moments, that's for sure, but I've learned it's nothing personal; just goes with the territory and the job. As for the questions last week, well, he was looking into a number of agencies, trying to get a lead on his new case. Sorry, but I can't really say anything more than that – you understand: research protocols, subject confidentiality and all that."

They glanced at one another and, reassured by Blair's offhand manner, they relaxed somewhat. "So we don't have any reason to worry," Mark observed, though it sounded more like a question.

Blair grinned at them and lifted his hands, palms up. "Why would you have reason to worry? From what you guys told him, it sounds like a good grad project, running a semi-social agency to help other students to find temp work, to prove it can be cost-effective. Sounded like a brilliant idea to me – I've sure relied on enough temp agencies in my time to know how necessary such help is for students."

"Yeah, that's right," Ted agreed enthusiastically. "Thought we'd get our Masters' major project done and do a good service for our fellow students at the same time."

"Well, there you go," Blair replied dismissively. Flicking a look at the open text and his notes, he said, "Uh, I don't mean to be antisocial, but the work of a teaching fellow, man, it is _never_ done."

Subtly reminded that he ranked higher in the student hierarchy than they did, they chuckled and nodded in commiseration, and then stood. "Sure thing. We'll, uh, see you around," Mark said congenially, while Ted nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure we will," Blair agreed pleasantly, his gaze dropping to the text before they'd scarcely turned away. But once they'd left the cafeteria, he sat back and rubbed his hands over his face, and felt as if he could use another shower.

* * *

When Jim woke, he winced and shaded his eyes from the bright glare of sunlight streaming in through the skylight, and he grimaced at the lingering scent of acrid smoke. And then he reached out to sadly press his palm upon the empty space in the bed beside him. Sighing, he forced himself up and down the steps to the kitchen, where he prepared and turned on the coffee maker. While the hot water processed through the grounds, he took a quick shower, hoping the pulse of water would relax his taut muscles and bring some measure of relaxation. But he felt no better when he toweled off and wandered into the hall, and glanced somberly at Blair's room under the stairs.

Once he was dressed in comfortable jeans and a pullover, and had a mug of much-needed coffee in his hand, no longer in a rabid rush to close the case, he called his colleagues and told them he'd decided things could wait to brief Simon the next morning. So they could stand down on the possibility of more surveillance work that night or early the next day. Then he wandered over to the open balcony doors, to look out over the city. The day seemed to stretch with infinite emptiness before him. Snorting, he told himself it was stupid to feel so bereft. It wasn't like he'd never see the kid again; Sandburg had assured him that they'd keep working together. And he'd known from the very beginning that this was a time-limited affair – in every respect of the word.

But all the reason in the world couldn't banish his sense of profound, irreplaceable loss, and he cursed himself for a fool. It wasn't like him to let himself get so involved, to care so much, so deeply. That had been the problem with his relationship with Carolyn; always holding a part of himself back, never fully surrendering to the love they'd shared, because surrendering meant he had no control. And if he had no control, he couldn't ensure he didn't lose his balance and give too much of himself away, pieces of himself he could never get back if or when things went sour.

He knew he was trying to maintain the same distance with Blair, but it wasn't working. Was already too late. Sandburg had stopped being an annoying, if essential, colleague of sorts a long time ago. Now, Jim felt as if Blair was somehow necessary to his being. A part of him. Or maybe he'd become a part of Blair, given some essential piece of his soul away into Blair's safekeeping.

Which was very ... scary to contemplate. Because he couldn't trust Blair to never leave him. Hell, Blair _had_ left him; he just wasn't able to accept it.

He thought, briefly, that maybe he should just accept that this was it. Whatever had been special between them was over. What was the difference really between now or sometime in the future? If he was smart, he wouldn't fight the inevitable but simply accept that this was just one more example that life sucked. Sighing, he rubbed at the stubble on his cheek and frowned at the helplessness he felt, his inability to simply let go. He wasn't used to failing, to losing when he wanted to win with everything in him. Wasn't used to feeling that he couldn't keep going alone; that he needed someone else to make him whole. Sure, Blair helped with the senses, and his help over the years had been indispensable. But it was more than that. Deep inside, there was this space that only Blair could fill, like a hunger or ... or a deep empty well. He felt cold to realize that without Blair in his life, he'd be eternally lonely, ever seeking solace that would never be there, incomplete and incapable of contentment, let alone true happiness.

Give up and let go – or fight for every last second of time that he could store up in his memory and heart like a miser hoards gold. His jaw tightened with resolution. Giving up had never been his style.

Shifting to sink into his chair in the living room, he thought back over the past week, and especially concentrated on everything Blair had said to him the night before. His heart ached and his hands trembled when he thought about how tough the kid had had it for so many years, and how Blair had had to survive on his own. Part of him felt guilty for having had so much and for having taken it all so completely for granted. And part of him wondered – fourteen years ago, he'd been going on twenty-two, a student in his last year at Rainier. Had he ever noticed that exceptionally young student in the anthropology program? Ever walked past him, wrapped up in his own self-preoccupations, when Blair had been feeling scared or hungry? How many other scared, lonely and impoverished students had he walked past and never noticed? Why hadn't he noticed? Had his anger been so great, his desire to isolate himself from the rest of humanity, even back then, been so callous? And, sure, the kids engaged in the student-run prostitution ring were breaking the law, but why had he taken it so personally? Just because he was pissed off about being handed such a Mickey Mouse case? Or because he thought these bright kids were arrogant in their decision to take on the system, to willfully be so stupid? And that they needed to be taught a lesson. In what? Ethics? Values? Or life ...?

But did a stupid decision mean they should have to pay for the rest of their lives?

And what did all that have to do with getting Blair to come home?

Why had he attacked Blair last night? Insinuating that he'd prostituted himself; that his mother had done the same for the whole of his life? What had he hoped to gain? What had been the point? Pinching the bridge of his nose, uncomfortable with so much self-analysis, he sighed. Sandburg had slammed him with more than his fist in the kitchen last night. He'd laid in with several painful home truths.

Though Jim knew he was less angry with his father now, more accepting and understanding emotionally of how his father had been, he realized that he'd never consciously rewritten his own story of his childhood and adolescence in his head. He'd still been clinging to the old story, the one where his dad was a bastard. Maybe ... maybe it really was time to let that story go, to accept it was how he'd seen things as a kid, but not the whole story of how things had been.

And had Blair been right in his challenge that Jim resented the fact that he had a mother, and a good relationship with that mother, when his own had abandoned him? On the surface, his mother had sure had it a whole lot easier than Naomi – a home, a husband, money, security. But there hadn't been love. Not between his parents and not enough for her sons to hold her where she didn't want to be. Jim's lips tightened and he swallowed, feeling the old guilt that he wasn't good enough, that he had somehow failed, that it had somehow been his fault that she'd gone. Looking back now with the eyes of an adult, one whose own marriage had failed, he knew that a seven-year-old kid could never be held responsible or accountable for the choices the adults in his world had made. Something resonated inside with that thought, something cracked and broke apart, and tears filled his eyes. Swiping them away, sniffing, he drew a great breath and swallowed hard. Dear God, somehow, without realizing it, he'd assumed adult responsibility – in some ways, he'd tried to become a parent to Steven, maybe even to William. And tried to be the fixer, the one who held the family together and, when he'd failed, he hadn't been able to take it. He'd grown resentful, angry, withdrawn. Had done everything in his power to get away, so he wouldn't have to face his failure.

Only ... he'd only been a kid. He hadn't really failed at anything. He'd been doing the best he could, and so had his father and his brother, and it had just been screwed up. Life was often screwed up and it wasn't necessarily anybody's fault.

But love could heal the wounds. Though he'd never before admitted it, let alone credited it to Sandburg, Blair had healed a lot of his wounds. He'd learned to trust again, if not perfectly, certainly more than he'd trusted anyone since he'd been a young child. Had become less alienated from his colleagues, more inclined to be sociable. He'd rediscovered his sense of humour. And he'd learned how to love again, how to care so deeply it rocked him, more deeply than he ever had since Bud had been killed. No one in his life knew him as Blair did. No one accepted him as completely. Oh, sure, they had differences of opinion on just about everything, but Blair generally found it all humorous, their differences refreshing, stimulating and, honestly, so did he.

Up until last night, when Jim had pushed too many buttons he hadn't even realized were there. But he should have realized, or at least been more alert, more aware, more conscious of paying attention to all the little messages Blair had been giving him all week that there were rocks under the shoals, sore spots that needed attention. For years, Blair had become increasingly aware of and supportive of his sensitivities, both sensory and psychological. Maybe it was time to return some of those favours.

As the afternoon drifted toward evening, Jim wondered if the time had come to be less fatalistic about assuming his personal life was never going to work out, that he was somehow cursed or doomed to be alone. Maybe the love he felt for Blair was worth making a stand for, worth fighting for. Maybe ... maybe it wasn't written in stone that everything had to end when Sandburg finished his dissertation.

Shaking his head after he'd added it all up, he told himself he had some serious fence-mending to do if he hoped to persuade Blair to come back home, where he belonged. But at least he was clear on what he wanted, and that he'd do whatever was in his power to make things right between them again. Nodding to himself, feeling the energy that comes from having his objectives clear, he began to work out how he might begin making amends.

* * *

Blair eyed his couch with profound disfavour. The futon in the room under the stairs was light-years more comfortable, and the bed upstairs was ... well, with Jim in it, it was as close to perfection as anything he'd ever known. Crossing his arms, closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and thought about how bad he felt. Working this case with Jim had been like pouring salt on old wounds. Every time he turned around, he'd felt stung with guilt and mired in mixed feelings, about the case, about his past ... and about Jim.

And everything had come to a head the night before, when he'd exploded with unreasoning fury. Whether he'd had a legitimate point or not wasn't the issue. The issues, plural, were why and where did he go from here.

"He doesn't love me," he murmured aloud and snorted in self-derision, feeling like some sad-sack character in a Harlequin novel. Sitting up, he drummed his fingers on the desk. "Actually," he continued aloud, arguing with himself, "he does love you. As a friend, at least. And he sure seems to enjoy making love with you. He loves you enough to have followed you last night, and to want you to go home with him."

His lips twisted in a grimace. "Yeah, but when I asked him why, he said it was because he wanted my help with his senses on the job."

Blowing a long breath, he shook his head as he muttered on, "And when have you ever known Jim to freely admit he needs anyone? Huh? He's not the type to get all gushy, you know that. You've got to look at his actions. He let you stay in the loft – against his better judgment and his preferences at the time. He took you into his bed. He came after you last night. So, you just want him to jump through emotional and verbal hoops to please your ego, or what?"

"Yeah, but ... it's not the same thing. What he feels is, I don't know, a certain comfort level? A convenience, maybe? He definitely likes the sex. But he doesn't want me to hang around until we're both old and gray."

He frowned. How did he know that, exactly? Or was he making assumptions? Bad assumptions? He'd told Jim more than a year ago that he had enough to write his dissertation, but Jim hadn't expected him to get it done and move on. Hadn't said word one about it – except that he really hated the first chapter. And he really had hated it, and then some. But he'd relented. Had let it go. Hadn't mentioned it since.

But there was Clayton Falls.

But he'd said, "I love you guys," and made it clear he'd just wanted a little space, a little time alone. What was so terrible about that?

But there'd been the pretty veterinarian. And Lila. And .... "But ... what? He always came back, didn't he? He eventually, always, sought comfort again with you," he reflected, still carrying on the conversation with himself, finding the mental distancing helpful to working through emotional questions and choices. Sometimes he thought this form of mental rambling aloud came from having lived so much of his life alone. Or maybe it was just that it was his nature to work things out with words, and the scientist in him required him to attempt some objectivity even when it came to his most personal dilemmas. Most of the time, he knew he was unconscious of the process, but this time, he was playing it out deliberately, the questions too important to lie fallow, the emotions too raw to be left to fester. "It's a form of love, an affiliation, a trust."

"Is that enough? Can it be enough?" He shook his head sorrowfully. "For a lifetime, no. But for now? It's not easy for him to commit, I know that. This guy is seriously screwed up when it comes to relationships." He sighed. "Like you aren't? He's got a lot of good reasons for being so cautious. Maybe he just needs more time."

Swallowing against his dry throat, feeling the ache of need and love rise within him, Blair whispered to himself, "Maybe ... maybe it's worth it to keep trying. You've had three great years. Maybe ... maybe the cosmic truth is that a lifetime is lived a day at a time."

"Yeah, and maybe that's all bullshit," he sighed again, rubbing his aching forehead. "It hurts. It hurts bad that he doesn't ever say he loves me. It's gonna hurt whenever it's all over." Rolling his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, he grumbled, "What's the difference? Hurts now; hurts later?"

And then, restless, he stood and paced to the window to stare out at the lengthening afternoon shadows on the lawn. "You're such a wuss. Whining like a baby. Get over it. Do you love him or not? Is he worth whatever it takes for one more day, one more hour?"

Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded. "Yeah. He is. He's worth whatever it takes. I love him, and whatever happens, I always will."

"Then, you schmuck, go home."

Chuckling to himself, glad there was no one there to hear his weird craziness, he stuffed his gear into the carry-all and went home.

* * *

Jim was so lost in his thoughts, his plans, that he didn't hear the light footsteps in the hallway, and was startled when the key turned in the lock and the door opened to reveal his partner.

"Blair!" he exclaimed, rising uncertainly to his feet. "You're home."

"Yeah," he nodded in agreement as he set his bags down and shrugged out of his jacket. "I remembered that tonight was my turn to cook."

A sweet smile of relief and welcome lit Jim's face, and the tension washed out of his body. "Uh, you want a beer?" he offered, striding toward the fridge.

"Yeah, sure, a beer would be good," Blair agreed. "I'll just put my stuff in my room and be right back."

Jim nodded and swallowed, wondering about the 'my room' comment. He was trying to decide what to say first – that Blair had been right or that he was sorry – when Sandburg came back, casually rolling up his sleeves as he said, "Connolly and Wilkins stopped by for a chat this morning."

Blinking at the complete and totally unexpected shift of topic, Jim exclaimed, "They what?"

"Joined me at my table in the cafeteria," Blair went on as he accepted the bottle Jim was holding out to him. He took a quick sip and went on, "Wanted to know if they had anything to worry about."

Frowning, Jim asked, "What did you say?"

"Well, after I explained my closed society thesis and role as a ride-along observer for research, and referred to you as Joe Friday, I asked what they thought they had to worry about. I mean, students need all the help they can get to find temp jobs, and their idea of proving such an agency could be profitable is dynamite. Too bad they didn't stay legal, but that doesn't negate the value of the concept."

Narrowing his eyes, Jim listened with reflexive impatience. "Cut to the chase, Chief. Do they know we're on to them?"

"Nah, I don't think so ... but any future tails and stakeouts run the risk of being spotted," Blair replied with a shrug. "They're at the cautious stage. Not really nervous, but paying attention."

Jim nodded soberly. "That's good to know," he reflected and then took a sip from his bottle. "Sounds like you handled it just right."

Blair gave him a bow and then grinned. "Do my best, man," he asserted. "I do my best."

Smiling back, Jim replied with solid sincerity, "I know you do, Chief. And I appreciate it."

Flushing with pleasure at the staunch approbation, Blair's gaze skittered away. "So, we got any food in the fridge?"

"Not a lot," Jim told him. "We were a little too busy yesterday to do any shopping. You wanna go out or order in?"

"Chinese?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, I'll phone it in and you can pay," Blair proposed and when Jim looked askance at him, he cheekily added, "Division of labour. Besides, it's your fault we didn't go shopping yesterday."

"My fault?" Jim protested, feeling unfairly maligned.

"Well, yeah. We were working your case – not like I had you giving a lecture to a class or grading papers or something," he explained, eminently reasonably. "Your job. Your fault."

Chuckling, Jim nodded and, capitulating gracefully, waved him toward the phone.

But after the order was placed, and Blair joined him in the living room, he once again tensed up as he tried to find the words for what he wanted to say. But, after studying him for what felt like barely a second, maybe, Blair said quietly, "It's okay, Jim. You apologized last night. I heard you. I ... I just needed time to calm down."

"You made some good points," Jim allowed as he picked at the label on his bottle. "And you pack a pretty good punch for a little guy."

"Little guy?" Blair snorted, and then laughed as he shook his head. "Don't push it, Ellison," he growled with mock threat.

Jim chuckled, but quickly sobered again. Leaning forward, he said solemnly, "I wish you'd had it easier, Chief."

Blair gave him a crooked smile. "All life is about experiencing things, Jim; learning as we go along. Took me awhile longer than I'd planned when I was sixteen to get here, but I've learned a lot of valuable things along the way."

Jim rubbed his chin and nodded vaguely in agreement. "We might not have met if ... well, if you'd stayed on the fast track," he ventured.

"I know," Blair replied with warm affection. "And that's the main reason I'm glad I didn't."

Feeling unaccountably humbled by the quiet affirmation, Jim again nodded to buy time while he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Me, too," he finally managed, but then he frowned, thinking that didn't sound right; in fact, it sounded selfish.

But again Blair seemed to read his mind, as he so often did. "It's okay to be as glad as I am that we met, Jim," he teased lightly. "It might have been a long and winding road that brought me to this point. But I can live with that."

Once again, Jim chuckled in relief and he felt a sense of peace pervade his being, of contentment deep in his soul. Blair had come back to him and hadn't made him grovel, like he remembered Carolyn had done after their big fights. Blair had heard his apologies and had known they were sincerely offered, even without all the words being said. Blair ... Blair understood him, and accepted him as he was, without rancor or restraint. Maybe ... maybe he could trust Blair would stay ... or at least, allow himself to hope Blair would never leave him. Lifting his bottle of beer, he toasted his partner – his lover – and, with an endearing smile, Blair toasted him back.

Later that night, they made slow, tender love. And just before they dozed off, Jim kissed Blair's damp temple and rasped huskily, "You are special, Chief. You're very special to me."

Blair's grip around his chest tightened, and his lips caressed Jim's throat lightly, the touch as gossamer as dandelion fluff, and yet Jim felt it so solidly, as he knew Blair knew he would – a wordless affirmation that he was special, too, to Blair, in equally as many and complex ways. He wrapped his arms around his lover and held him close as they let the night claim them.

* * *

The next morning, the detectives gathered around the table in Simon's office, to brief him on the progress they'd made on the prostitution case over the weekend. Well pleased by their report, he nodded approvingly. "Good work," he acknowledged with a glance that included them all. "So, a warrant for the phone taps on the suspects, another few days of surveillance, and we should be able to wrap this one up with arrests before the end of the week. Jim, you'll handle the interrogations. We should have a solid case to present to the DA, with charges that will stick in court."

Ellison nodded. "I suspect these kids will fold pretty quickly," he postulated. "They'll be scared when they realize the game is up."

"Play with fire and sometimes you get burned," Simon rejoined with a philosophical shrug.

"Uh, about that, sir," Jim ventured with a glance at his partner, "I've been thinking that we might recommend probation rather than jail time. The, uh, the shock of being arrested, going to court ... well, they are only kids. They've made a mistake, a big one, sure. But the conviction on their record will stand for the rest of their lives. I, uh, I think that's probably enough; that we don't have to throw the book at them."

Blair looked at Jim, surprise written on his face – and gratitude.

Simon was simply surprised, as were the other detectives around the table, given Jim's attitude about the case only days before. "You think that's enough, do you?" Banks probed.

"Yes, sir, I do," he affirmed solidly.

"Well, so do I, detective," he allowed decisively, the suggestion fair in his view, and it balanced off his discomfort with his suspicions of why the Mayor had been pushing so hard. Sure, the kids had broken the law, but he figured her husband and a lot of other adults who should know better had been equally as guilty in soliciting them, but would never pay the penalty.

With that, the meeting broke up. When they approached Jim's desk, Blair touched his arm, slowing him down and causing him to turn and face his partner. "Thanks, man," he said, his voice low and solemn. "I really, really appreciate what you just did."

Giving him a tight-lipped smile, Jim looped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Well, Chief, like you said last night, life is about experience and learning. I guess even this old dog can learn a few new tricks."

"You're not so old, man," Blair contested fondly.

Ruffling his partner's hair, and laughing at the predictable reaction of having his hand pushed away, he said with low meaning, "Yeah, but I can do some really good tricks."

Blair laughed with light-hearted gaiety and nodded with firm agreement. "Yeah, man, I'll give you that. _Great_ tricks."

Both snickering at the puns and double entendres, each of them feeling joy to simply be together, they happily got busy, doing the work necessary to obtain the warrants they needed to complete the case. "You know," Jim mused, "I was really pissed off to be assigned this case. Last week, I hated every minute of it."

"Yeah, I know. Me, too," Blair agreed heartily.

Looking up at him, Jim reflected, "But I'm not angry about it anymore. It, uh ... well ...."

When his voice trailed off, Blair smiled at him with complete understanding. "Yeah, I know. Me, too."

"How do you do that?" he asked, not quite exasperated, mostly relieved. "Know what I'm thinking before I say it?"

"I know you," Blair replied with a diffident shrug.

"Yeah. Yeah. You do," Jim agreed. Returning his attention to the paperwork, he added softly, "Better than anyone else ever has or ever will."

Startled by the admission, Blair looked at him ... and beamed with pleasure. Well pleased to have won such evident approval and to have been the cause of such an expression of unmitigated happiness on his partner's face, Jim's lips quirked in a small half-smile of his own. The plan he'd formulated the afternoon before, to mend fences and restore the easiness between them, was working out rather well.

Maybe ... maybe there was hope for them yet. Maybe what they shared today _could_ last a lifetime.

Love, real love, he reflected, was tough, hard work sometimes – not the relationship, but accepting the vulnerability, the risks, not knowing for sure how it would all turn out ... well, it was just about the hardest thing he'd ever attempted in his life. But maybe love – loving and being loved by Blair – was worth the gamble. Watching Blair from the corner of his eye, his throat tightened, and he knew, just _knew_ , this was one gamble he couldn't afford not to take. Blair had become a part of him; a part he could never replace. And ... and he wanted, badly wanted, to know this man, and be with this man, for the whole of the rest of his life. Because ... well, for so damned many reasons, he couldn't begin to list them or he'd never get his work done.

And, just maybe, he'd find the courage one day, maybe even sooner rather than later, to reply to Blair's easy, "Love ya, Jim," with "I love you, too, Chief. I love you, too."

 

  
_Fini_   



End file.
